Las Palabras De Amor
by snow-dance
Summary: The country of Spain is dying out and there are some things that need to be said and done before Spain disappears altogether. Warning: Short chapters. Like really short.
1. One

"_**Life is cruel"**_

The news came in a tightly sealed envelope. The contents was no more than a few leaves of papers, if he hadn't been hopeful, he would have probably left it in the mailbox to open for another day.

It had all started with a hacking fit of coughs. His body had convulsed with each wheeze and he winced when he could taste his own blood in his mouth. It was followed suit by an inconsistent fever that flicked on and off like switches on a dashboard. Then there were the random stabs of pain that seared holes right through him; figuratively speaking of course.

He had looked up the economy of his country, counted his population and he came upon the conclusion of the inevitable.

Ha could feel it eating away at him, the changes were frightening. Everyday the news headlines scream of yet another thousands of deaths. It was pointless to maintain a country at such a state. Being an old nation himself, he understood the patterns. Simply put; he had seen it all.

And now he was experiencing it all.

He gingerly broke the seal on the envelope. Bracing himself for the bad news, he unfolded the flimsy pieces of papers. There it was in black and white. His blood unit count had dropped again, another sign of his weakening body, a sign of a dying immunity system. He grimaced.

Not much longer now, he thought. He knew and of course he understood.

"Life is cruel," Spain spoke despondently to no one in particular. A bitter laugh escapes his lips as he thought about those he'd leave behind. It was almost the end of his journey. He had served this world for many years; perhaps it was time for him to go.

Yet there were still some things that had to be done. Spain folded the letter carefully and placed it back into the envelope. Maybe it was time he started dismissing some of his workers.

* * *

A/N: These are short chapters to one whole story. Inspired by Queen's Las Palabras De Amor. (: Enjoy~


	2. Two

"_**Just for one more night"**_

Spain gave a pained smile as he observed himself in the mirror. There wasn't much of a difference really. He looked healthy as ever - well chiseled muscles, bright green eyes, hair the colour of chocolate mousse. No one would know, no would need to. Not until it was too late anyway.

Climbing the stairs was such an effort. The meager exercise had left him breathless and extremely tired. It was yet another sign of his failing system. He strived hard, though, to carry on as per normal. Picking up offhandedly strewn objects on the floor, Spain slowly made his way to the kitchen. He couldn't help but feel a stab of sympathy for himself.

"Just for one more night!" Spain silently begged, "Give me the strength I need to carry on for just one more night!"

Wrinkling his nose in disgust at his pathetic demeanor, Spain heaved himself to the stoves and counter tops and begun to prepare dishes. There was no time to appear weak in front of others. Especially not today. He was expecting somebody.

So tonight, there will be a feast.


	3. Three

"_**Will that make you happy?"**_

Romano trudged to Spain's house. He was in one of his blackest and sourest moods. Having being yelled at by his boss for being incompetent to his brother and for lazing around, Romano had a blossoming flower of fury hidden away in his chest. His mind was a raging conflict of tempests.

He spat into the Spain's flowerbeds as he passed the gateway. He smirked as he imagined Spain's horrified face at seeing a glob of saliva dripping off the leaves of his highly prized plants. Walking up the porch, Romano removed his hands from his pockets and rang the doorbell. As if one time wasn't enough, he kept at it until the door would swing open and he could enter.

When Spain had answered the door, a scowling Italian greeted him. All smiles and nothing else, Spain ushered Romano in, flitting about him like how he usually did. He was successful in masking his ailments behind a façade of immense air headedness and oblivion. That was what people expected from him, to be nothing but a dimwit, so Spain gave them that – nothing more and nothing less.

Perhaps that was why Romano had failed to notice anything as he invaded upon Spain's kitchen.

The table was set with an array of Spanish and Italian dishes. Rich aromas of herbs and spicy scents wafted through the air and many dishes had the favourite topics of both nations – red, juicy tomatoes glistened brightly in the mellow lighting of the room.

However, being in the foul mood he was, Romano failed to take notice of the Spaniard's strangely different efforts. Seating himself, Romano began to indulge himself on a plate of steaming churros, richly coated with cinnamon and sugar. Romano hardly spoke anything at the dinner table as he manifested himself with Spain's delectable foods, he grunted his approval every now and then but didn't offer a word of thanks.

**ooOoo**

After dinner, there was the usual short conversations and name calling. Romano had lounged himself on Spain's sofa as Spain did the dishes in the kitchen and tried to strike conversation by babbling about uninteresting subjects.

Romano had so often called Spain a bastard and the likes that it was second nature. It had come as a surprise to him when Spain had responded differently to the whole train of insults he had thrown at the Spaniard.

"Could you_ please shut up_ for once?" Romano had snapped. "You are so _annoying_."

"Ok…" Spain had conceded, he wasn't out to pick a fight today.

"While you're at it, why don't you just get away from me, huh? You're always invading my personal space. I don't appreciate that." Romano sneered. In the heat of the moment, Romano wasn't even half aware of the words spewing out of his mouth. He just wanted relied from all his tension.

"Will that make you happy?" Spain had inquired quietly.

"Yeah, sure."

"Ok then." Spain laughed quietly, all the sadness and hurt prevalent in his eyes of deep-sea green.

But it wasn't as if Romano could see them anyway.


	4. Four

"_**If you can, please hear me out"**_

Spain had asked for the presence of France and Prussia. His two best friends. Yes, he was weak, he was dying and the plague was killing him from within. Yet he was able to request for a final meeting at France's place.

When they had gathered, Spain had grinned. It was one last time they were to gather like this. The trio would become a duo. The dullness in his eyes was apparent to both his friends. Knowing Spain well, both didn't know what to expect. The thing was, the Spain was rarely upset.

The country of Spain had done well to subdue the news. The words will not spread yet. In time it will, but now was not the time.

Taking a deep breath, Spain turned to his companions with a rigid and stiff face. The seriousness of the situation blazed on Spain's facial features, and Prussia felt the urge to turn tail and flee. This wasn't the same Spain he knew.

The Spain before them was gaunt and haunted. The life was snuffed out like fire from a candle.

"I have a final request to make," Spain had declared loudly, " this is my last request to you guys, so… If you can, please hear me out."


	5. Five

"_**Are you okay with this?"**_

What Spain had told France and Prussia was shocking and heart-stopping. Spain's request had scared France. Spain couldn't be dying out! Yet, mere observations showed the affirmative. His eyes were lack lustrous, and his spirit has lost its glow.

Spain had made it clear-cut about his wishes. When he was to perish, he wanted the land that was previously Spain's to be divided between the two. Germany could have the upper half, and France the lower. He didn't really care, so long as there was fair distribution of his land between his best friends.

"Give it five years until the plague dies out," Spain had said, " five years before you can claim it. I don't want war over my land. Will you do that for me?"

Of course they would. Spain was, after all, part of the notorious threesome – the best of friends through the ages.

"Are you okay with this?" France had breathed airily. Yes, France wanted land, but not through the death of his friend.

Prussia sat quietly as he eyed Spain; he noticed how frail and tired his friend looked. Like a glass about to shatter, Spain's stature was small and hunched over - Spain was a figure of remorse. Prussia waited for Spain to respond to France's question.

"Of course." Spain forced out a laugh, " It's my request isn't it?"


	6. Six

"_**I'll be okay."**_

"Hey… You…" Prussia began to say. His words hadn't come out as he wanted them to. Heck, he didn't even finish his sentence before the first tear fell.

It was rare that the happy-go-lucky Spaniard would cry. And when he did, it was horrible. That was how France and Prussia knew that Spain was undergoing extreme anguish.

More tears fell.

And they laughed and cried for one last time. They laughed and cried _together_ for one last time.

"Okay, okay. No more tears," Spain had managed to choke out, his voice oddly strangled by all the tears he was forcing back. He wouldn't see them again. That much he knew.

"Spain…" France tried to say something edgewise, but Spain would hear none of them.

"I'll be okay. Really."

They were saying goodbye, and they didn't even know it. At least not France and Prussia.


	7. Seven

"_**Haven't heard from him."**_

"Fratello, I haven't heard you complain in days…" Italy looked blearily at his elder brother.

Romano snorted in contempt. In all honesty, he hadn't gotten over the telling off he had received from their boss the other day. He wasn't about to let Italy win by showing him how much the boss had managed to rub him the wrong way due to a mere sentence of comparison.

"There's nothing to complain about," Romano spat. Romano often complained about the happy Spaniard, but the last time he had been to Spain's house, they had parted in a kind of rift.

"How about big brother Spain? You always complain about him," Italy said with intoxicating innocence. " I heard from Germany that-"

"Haven't heard from him," Romano cut in. He didn't give a damn about what Germany had said.


	8. Eight

"_**I don't know, damn it!"**_

There's only five minutes left before the world meeting would kick off and Spain still hasn't appeared. The empty seat next to Romano ticked him off. What was even more annoying though, was the fact that Spain hadn't tried to communicate him since their last fallout.

"Where's big brother Spain…?" Italy asked. His airhead of a brother peered at him nervously.

"How should I know?"

As the next five minutes drew to a close, Romano concluded that the dumb Spaniard wasn't going to show up and that the dumb Spaniard could go rot in hell for all he cared. Because Spain should have told him that he wouldn't be coming to the meeting despite whatever.

"Fratello… He's still not here yet. Why isn't he here yet?" Romano groaned inwardly as his brother issued forth another statement.

Romano didn't have the time to respond when Italy yet again asked another irritating question. "When is he coming?"

Patience on tethers, Romano hissed out his reply.

"I don't know damn it! Stop asking!" He felt a prick of satisfaction as he watched his brother cringe.

But soon enough, his words hit home. He _didn't know_.

He _truly didn't know._


	9. Nine

"_**Has he not told you?"**_

When the world meeting finally drew to a close, Romano had sat there, seething. It wasn't because the meeting in particular had been another utter waste of time, though it very well was. It was more of the fact that, despite all that had happened, Romano still held a penchant belief that Spain would ultimately show up.

It wasn't like Spain to not show up, it wasn't like Spain to neither call nor text and it definitely wasn't like Spain to ignore him for days after a mini fight.

As everyone gathered to leave, Romano halted Prussia and France in the hallway.

"Hey," Romano spat. If anyone knew were the foolish Spaniard was, it was them. "Where's the tomato bastard?"

There was an exchange of glances, where sapphire blue clashed with ruby red.

France bit his lip and said, "Mon ami, has he not told you?"

There was something in the way that France said it, maybe it was the tiredness in France's eyes or the tone of his words, but it made Romano's insides grow weak and cold.


End file.
